


Skeever Butt

by Espereth



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly fic about Skyrim followers, and something weird that happened with Marcurio. Not sure if it was a bug or not, but it amused me :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skeever Butt

**Author's Note:**

> For the Skyrim Kinkmeme: http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4295.html?thread=5975239#t5975239

"Marcurio, we need to talk," I said, stepping off the Great Lift at Mzinchaleft and into the cold Hjaalmarch wind.

Lightning still crackled over my hireling's body, and his hands glowed with the remnants of the spells he'd used to wreak havoc through a small army of Falmer. 

"Let me guess, Jescarius. You want me to carry another ridiculously oversized piece of Dwemer junk? I am an apprentice wiz-"

"Shut up, Marcurio. I know you're not a pack mule. Incidentally, you can give me all my stuff back now - I'm going to take a strength potion."

"Well, thank the Divines for that," he huffed, and began to offload loot. Into my arms he plunked a full set of heavy Dwarven armor, three identical glass swords, an enchanted elven warhammer, sundry jewels and stones, fifty potions I'd managed to produce with effects I'd never have any use for but had kept in order to sell, and all the Dwemer scrap metal he'd been complaining about since Raaldbthar.

"Great," I said. "Thanks for carrying all this. Much appreciated."

"It certainly wasn't what I signed up for," he grumped. "I should charge you for that particular service. Oh, and don't you want this?" he asked, holding out some bloodied Forsworn gear I'd picked up accidentally, ages ago, from a mine somewhere south of Markarth. Oops. I'd forgotten he had it.

"Uh... no, you can keep it," I said. "But where's my copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid? I'm sure I lent it to you."

"Lent it to me? I certainly didn't ask to read that peurile trash. I was, however, carrying it for you. Here."

He dumped the book into my hands.

"What happened to Volume Two?" I asked.

"I'm sure I have no idea."

I raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. "Fine. Here it is." 

"Thanks. Now, like I said, we have to talk. Marcurio, I'm afraid it's... not working out."

"What on Nirn do you mean? My performance has been exemplary. I've roasted whole parties of bandits alive for you. I've electrocuted a hundred of those thrice-damned mechanical spiders on your behalf. You don't even know the names of the spells I use! You couldn't cast a spell to save your life! Literally!"

"You're absolutely right, Marcurio. I couldn't. And you're an excellent mage. Look, it's not you, Marcurio - it's me. Our fighting styles just... they aren't compatible."

"Not... compatible?"

"No. You see, I use a bow pretty much constantly, and all your spells are ranged, too. It doesn't work for me. I need someone to jump right in, engage my enemies in melee, keep them occupied so I can stay out of the way."

"You want a _tank_?" he said, contemptuously.

"Well, I guess you could say that." I shrugged, feeling a little defensive. "There's nothing wrong with having a tank, you know. And like I said - it's not you. I just think someone who wears heavy armor, someone who can take some hits and, you know, keep my enemies still instead of running around all over the place would complement my emphasis on marksmanship a lot better." 

"Oh. You mean Argis the Bulwark, don't you? You're going back to Markarth without me, aren't you? The man's a fool! He doesn't even have depth perception! You're picking that lump of horker lard over _me_?"

"I'm sorry, Marcurio. Really, I am. I hope you find another patron. You deserve better."

"I know I deserve better! Fine. You think you can make it on your own, Jescarius Cantallo? We'll see about that."

He turned his back and marched off, presumably intending to walk all the way to Riften. I shrugged, downed my strength potion, and headed back to Markarth.

***

"What do you need, my thane?" Argis turned to me in the flickering light of Deepwood Redoubt. He was certainly a lot easier to deal with than Marcurio, I pondered, absently loading him up with piles of iron and corundum ingots, and some Orcish gear I'd made, but hadn't been able to get a good price for in Markarth. He donned the Orcish armor immediately, then stood before me, stolid and obedient.

"Follow me," I said.

We made our way into the ruins. Argis clanked and stomped, making enough noise to wake the dead. Literally.

"Quietly," I hissed, and he fell into a crouch, imitating mine. We proceeded. He made a little less noise than before, but not much. Maybe I could get him to take a potion, or something. At this rate, the Forsworn would hear us coming a mile away. 

"Argis. You hear that?" I whispered, nodding towards where the narrow tunnel opened into a chamber inside the Redoubt. 

I held up a hand to stay him, but it was too late. He charged towards the fray. "Now you'll pay!" he bellowed, and answering battlecries met his own. 

"Come and face the Forsworn!"

"Forsworn forever!"

"For the Reach!"

Oh, shit. So much for my plans to thin their ranks with stealth attacks. I sighed and followed him. "Argis! Watch out for -"

BANG. He triggered a stone plate, sending a spiked, trapped door rocketing straight into my face. Pain wracked through my whole body, so intense I nearly blacked out. I collapsed on the stone floor. The battle raged on up ahead, but I was oblivious to it all, clutching my stomach in agony, blood pouring through my fingers. Sweet Dibella, it hurt! I wavered in and out of consciousness, eventually recovering my senses enough to fumble a healing potion to my lips and swallow it, tasting blood.

I got to my feet, readying my bow. Avoiding the stone plate, I crouched, peering into the chamber ahead to see Argis on his knees. A Forsworn Briarheart hefted an axe above my housecarl's head, ready to kill.

I staggered the Briarheart with my first arrow, and his axe fell harmlessly to the ground; my second arrow took him through the head, killing him. 

Everything went quiet. The rest of the Forsworn lay dead or had retreated into the depths of their lair. Argis was panting on one knee, but alive. Still shaking with the pain of my injuries, I hauled myself to my housecarl's side and collapsed on my back. 

"Argis," I said, staring at the vaulted ceiling. "We need to talk."

***

The warmth of the Bee and Barb was welcome after my rainy journey to Riften. My boots squelched as I entered. The sooner I could get a room and dry out, the better. But first, I had business to attend to.

Marcurio sat glaring over a mug of wine in his favorite corner. I took a deep breath, and approached.

 _Hey, slug breath!_

The voice had come out of nowhere. I jumped, and looked around in surprise. Had Marcurio said that? I looked at him, but his expression hadn't changed. He was still frowning at his wine.

_Hey, skeever butt!_

Where in Oblivion was that coming from? I looked suspiciously at Marcurio. He glanced up at me. "Well, well," he said. "Look what the horker dragged in." 

_Hey, melon-nose!_

I frowned in confusion. Maybe that spiked door had knocked me around worse than I'd thought. "Uh... What did you say, Marcurio?"

"I said, Look what the horker dragged in. Couldn't make it without me, could you?" Obviously noticing the fresh scar on my right cheek, Marcurio raised his eyebrows. "What in Oblivion happened to you?"

_Hey, ugly!_

"Uh - Marcurio, did you say something?"

"Are you drunk? I asked what happened to you. Not that I care. If you've got something to say to me, kindly stop wasting my time and get on with it."

_Hey, melon-nose!_

I shook my head. I must be imagining things. "Listen, Marcurio. What I said about our fighting styles..."

"Yes?" He looked up at me innocently. He wasn't going to make this easy.

_Hey, skeever butt!_

It _had_ to be him. How was he even doing it? _Mages_ , I thought, sighing inwardly. "Marcurio, you have every right to be angry. I just came to say that I may have been, uh, preemptive, when I dismissed you."

"Preemptive?"

"Yes."

"As in, insulting, disrespectful, wrong-headed, arrogant and idiotic?"

"...Yes."

_Hey, troll bait!_

Oh, come on. Troll bait? That was too much. "Marcurio, would you cut that out?" I said.

"Cut what out?" 

_Hey, slug-breath!_

"That!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Jescarius, if you are _trying_ to apologise to me, I grudgingly accept. My fee, of course, after such a deep insult, will be doubled if you wish to avail yourself of my services again."

"Fine," I said. "Just stop doing that... thing... with your voice, will you?"

"What thing? Have you developed a skooma habit in my absence? I guess it was even harder for you without me than I thought it'd be." 

"I've never touched the stuff! You know what I'm talking about, Marcurio."

"I assure you, I don't," he said, standing up. "One thousand septims, Jescarius. And this time, you'll treat me with the respect I deserve."

"Deal," I said, and we shook hands.

_Hey, skeever butt!_

"Uh... Excuse me," I said, shaking my head again. "We'll head out tomorrow. I think I need some rest."


End file.
